by Karen Abbott
And, in bright colours, it would appeal to younger women as well. She jotted down a few colours and sketched some designs on the pad she kept by the till.
She really needed another machinist to do the straight-seam sewing. That would free Louise to do more of the artistic work. She jotted down a short advertisement on the next page and chewed the end of her pen. She couldn’t pay much, but things were going well. Her mother and Christi were doing as much as they could already. Maybe one of her mum’s friends would help out?
She glanced at her watch. It was nearly lunch-time. Simone was going to look after the shop in the afternoon, so that would give her time to make some more-detailed drawings and check through their stock of fabrics. That was another thing – they needed more fabrics. She’d visit the fabric shop in St. Pierre this afternoon – and, if she closed now, she’d get to watch Hugo in the heats for the surfing competition in Boyardville that was to take place the following week.
She carefully locked the shop, checking that the rear door was looked and bolted. They rarely used that door and the bolts were stiff. They certainly hadn’t been left undone the previous night.
The island was becoming more populated by holiday-makers and it showed in the traffic level as she drove up the island to the busy town of Boyardville. Slipping a pair of binoculars into her small shoulder bag, she quickly made her way to the beach.
From the cheers, she knew the heats had already started. It wasn’t Hugo riding the waves at the moment. She searched amongst the bystanders. There he was. She felt a flutter in her heart. He was watching the present competitor and cheered with the crowd at his display of acrobatic control. She smiled and swung the glasses to watch the performance. He was good, and she hoped Hugo would do as well.
Hugo’s turn came ten minutes later. He did well, taking the wave at just the right moment, harnessing the power of its leading edge with style and grace. He easily qualified for the next round of the competition. A crowd of teenage girls rushed towards him as he strolled up the beach with his surf-board over his shoulder. Gini smiled. They reminded her of herself a few years ago, clamouring to get Vincent’s autograph. How ill-founded that teenage adulation had been!
She watched as Hugo paused to sign his name in their autograph books or whatever they handed to him, seeing him parry the offer of dates with his lop-sided smile. Her heart lurched. She realised with a start that he was beginning to mean a great deal to her.
He glanced up and spotted her, his smile warming immediately. With a murmured apology to the girls, he handed the last autograph book back to its owner and went over to Gini, his tall figure towering above her.
“Salut!”
“Salut! Congratulations!”
A smile lit his face. “The waves ran well for me.”
Her heart pounded and she felt giddy. She knew she was grinning idiotically at him. She didn’t want this. This was how she had felt about Vincent … and look how that had turned out! She hardly knew Hugo … and knew even less about him! Her smile faded but Hugo didn’t seem to notice.
“Give me five minutes to get out of my wet-suit and we’ll have some lunch. You’ve not eaten, have you?”
“Er … no.” She shook her head slightly. This was getting out of her control. She wasn’t sure she was ready.
“Er … I’ve not really got time to eat. I’m sorry. I’ve got to get some more fabrics. I … er … only came to watch you surf.”
She was gabbling … but couldn’t help it. She needed time to think.
Hugo merely nodded.
“That’s okay. Glad you could make it. Maybe I’ll see you later? Can you get back here?”
“I…I’m not sure. I’ll have to see how it goes.”
He smiled amicably.
“That’s all right. I’ll see you around. I’ll be here practising all week. The competition starts for real on Friday.”
He waved his free hand and continued on his way up the beach, soon surrounded by other surfers and the inevitable crowd of girls.
Gini stared after him. Well, he hadn’t put up much of a fight, had he? Had she wanted him to? She wasn’t sure. She suddenly felt deflated. She was acting like an emotional teenager, who didn’t know her own mind from one minute to the next.
She swung on her heels and strode back to her car. It was too early to go to the fabric shop. It would be closed for lunch. She may as well go home and make time to go out later.
An excited Simone met her in the family kitchen.
“Gini! Where’ve you been? You’ll never guess what’s happened! Remember Yvette de Greef? She phoned just before lunch-time. She has a cousin at La Maison de Paris and they’re hosting a Collection by new designers. The best designer will be offered a year’s training with their top design team and she wanted to know if you were entering. I said I didn’t think you knew about it. The last date for entry is the end of next week. Here’s her number.”
Gini took the piece of paper out of her hand, her dissatisfaction with herself fading away.
“I’ll get straight back to her. What about you, Simone? Will you enter as well?”
Simone shook her head.
“No. You know my main strength is in the hand-finishing. This is for basic design mainly, though the finishing will count as well. But I think you should enter. That dress you’re planning for Madame Ridureau … that would be ideal. And some others from your portfolio. Yvette said it wouldn’t be contravening the rules of the competition … as long as they haven’t already been in a professional Collection.”
Gini laughed.
“Some hopes of that! I’ll give her a call.”
Her chat with Yvette settled the matter. She was definitely entering the competition. There were four classes to enter, each one complementing the others … mature formal and mature casual; and young casual and young beachwear. She could enter more than one dress in each section, as long as they formed part of a coherent style.
She wrote off immediately for an entry form, and then spent the rest of the afternoon looking through her portfolio for inspiration, selecting half a dozen of her designs to serve as a foundation for her Collection. It would put her under pressure to complete it in time on top of everything else but she felt she could do it.
Remembering their need of building up the stock for the shop, she made a phone-call to the warehouse and asked for some samples to be delivered, describing what she was after.
“And I want some silk … a dark royal … and some heavy cottons … dark green, dark royal and crimson, and paler shades of all colours to tone and contrast.”
She was glad she had spent part of her second year at Art College building up a profile of suppliers. She knew who specialised in which fabrics and who was prepared to search for the impossible.
They were promised by courier-delivery the following day. That would save her some time, though, believing in working in conjunction with her suppliers, she planned to do some of her buying locally. If she could build up a working-relationship with them, it would benefit both of them.
She felt a pang of remorse when, after the family dinner, she returned to her drawing board instead of making her way back to Boyardville. She was still feeling confused about the surge of emotion she had experienced at lunch-time and, deep down, knew that she needed to sort out more than her Collection!
After her mistaken feelings over Vincent, she dreaded making the same mistake again and wasn’t sure which of her emotions to trust—the heart-stopping tremor … or the awareness that things were going too fast and out of her control.
Hugo’s face swam before her eyes and she felt again the giddiness that had assailed her earlier that day on the beach. It wasn’t as if there was anything truly remarkable about his looks. He was reasonably good-looking, very tanned, his dark hair often falling in an unruly way over his forehead.
His eyes? She paused. It wasn’t just that they were dark. It was the warmth of feeling that shone out from them. a warmth that made her feel th
at they gleamed only for her! And that was ridiculous. She hardly knew him. He hardly knew her!
She moistened her lips. The thought of him did strange and wonderful things to her. Sensations she couldn’t control. And that worried her. She needed to stay in control … and working on her Collection was in her control.
Louise offered to pass on her excuses. She was meeting Dominic, one of Hugo’s friends so Gini didn’t feel too badly about it. Hugo would be pleased to know of the great opportunity she had been given and would understand, she knew.
The next few days were extremely busy. They were practically run off their feet, but it was all worthwhile. Gini felt exhilarated and fulfilled. She knew she had chosen the right career for herself. She sat back and sighed with satisfaction.
“It’s all coming together nicely, Simone. I’ll get on with re-doing all the drawings and get them sent off as soon as possible, then, if you and Louise can get on with building up our stock, I can start on this lot as soon as I’ve chosen the fabrics and had them delivered.”
The entry form came by return of post. This, she returned without delay, along with final draft of her drawings. The garments would be requested if considered to be of a high enough standard. Confident that they would be, and backed by the knowledge that she could sell them in her shop if they weren’t selected to be part of the competition, she pressed on with them all. The sewing of the garments didn’t have to be done by the designer but she wanted to do it, then the responsibility for any possible defects would hers … and gave the task of restocking the shop to Louise and Simone.
A friend of her mother’s agreed to do part-time sewing as required, in her own home, which eased the pressure from Louise and saved Gini the necessity of purchasing another sewing-machine.
Friday dawned a beautiful day. Listening to the local weather forecast at breakfast-time, she knew it promised to be an ideal day for the start of the Surfing Competition.
“I’ll see to the shop,” Louise offered. “I can take some hand-sewing with me. Then you can work here and leave whenever you wish. Dominic didn’t qualify for the competition so he won’t need my support.”
Everything seemed to happen at once from then on.
The first shock was when Gini opened a letter post-marked from Paris. She tore it open, realising that it would be in connection with the Design competition. Maybe they were now requesting her finished garments.
Christi was in the kitchen with her and saw Gini’s face turn white.
“What is it, Gini? You look terrible.”
Gini sank onto the nearest chair.
“I’ve been disqualified from the competition … and face possible legal proceedings. They say my designs have been copied from another of the competitors.”
Chapter 7
“What? That’s nonsense! Here! Let me read it.”
Christi took the letter from Gini’s trembling hand and read it with growing incredulity.
“There must be a mistake. They’ve mixed you up with another entrant. What a way to run a top competition like this!”
“They say it’s me. My name was on every sheet of drawings. I don’t see how they could have made a mistake.”
She was badly shaken and knew that tears were about to fall.
“What shall I do, Christi? I know I haven’t copied from anyone. Heavens! I haven’t been off the island for weeks. I’ve been too busy with my own designs.”
“Could you have somehow been influenced by designs you’ve seen, without being consciously aware of it? Everything new is built on previous knowledge.”
Christi was searching for a logical explanation but she knew it was a weak attempt.
“I don’t think so. They say the similarities are too close to be a coincidence. Oh, Christi, what shall I do?”
Her eyes brimmed over and hot tears ran down her cheeks. This was awful. She knew she hadn’t copied anyone’s designs … but how could she prove it? The designs had flowed in to her mind and she’d scribbled them down on scraps of paper. Others were from her portfolio. Were other entrants from her College and had been influenced by her successful Collection of her final year? But, no. That was the same as her having been influenced subconsciously by someone else’s designs. The apparent similarities were too close for that.
“What about that woman who is associated with Vincent Depretine? She saw your portfolio, didn’t she?”
“Gabrielle ‘whatever her name is’?”
Gini considered the possibility then shook her head.
“No. She’s an established designer. She won’t be in the competition. Besides, I’ve looked at what’s in her boutique in Le Chateau. She has some good stuff in there. She wouldn’t risk her reputation by doing something like this.”
“Well, someone has! And I know it’s not you!”
Christi paused, thinking hard.
“Go and wash your face … and I’ll get hold of Jean-Claude. He’ll know what to do next.”
Jean-Claude and the rest of the family were as bewildered as Gini and Christi. They asked the same questioned Christi had asked and received the same answers.
“I will make a phone call on your behalf and we’ll take it from there,” Jean-Claude told Gini. “And, don’t worry. We’re behind you all the way.”
Gini was grateful for that.
The phone call was made but it only served to reiterate the words in the letter. She would be informed of the date of a preliminary hearing and nothing could be done until then. Gini felt as though the sun had been blanked out of the day. She went to the sewing-room and told Simone what had happened, receiving the same incredulous reaction.
“Utter piffle!” she retorted. “And why should you be the guilty one? What about this other girl? She is as much likely to be guilty as you! More so … because we know you didn’t do it!”
Gini smiled weakly.
“Thanks for your support. They say the other entry was submitted a few weeks ago, long before I had even sent for an entry form.”
“Then it’s sheer coincidence. It can’t be anything else!”
Feeling too upset to continue with her designs for the time being, Gini decided to drive to Boyardville to watch the second round of the Surfing Competition. She had to stop in Le Chateau first to post some mail and parked on the main Square.
On her return to her car she was dismayed to see Vincent leaning against it. What did he want? He was the last person she wanted to see or talk to.
“Have you something to say?” she asked coolly, as she unlocked her door and slid into the driving seat.
Flicking an imaginary speck of his jacket sleeve, he smiled. Smirked almost, she decided furiously, her eyes narrowing.
“I had an interesting call from Gabrielle last evening. About you,” he added pointedly. “It seems I had a lucky escape when you turned down my offer of employment. I would have sacked you of course, which would have been bad for my business. I suppose your little shack is just about your level, isn’t it?”
Gini wondered how she could ever have been attracted to him. The way his lip curled in distaste made him look particularly unattractive! She smiled coldly.
“Then I am surprised that you risk ruining your reputation by being seen talking to me.”
As she inserted the ignition key, she glanced back at him.
“Some of my designs were in my portfolio. Who else did you show it to?”
“What are you suggesting, Virgine?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I am merely asking.”
“Then, may I suggest that you be careful what you ask! Or you may ‘ask’ yourself into a case of slander.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Are you threatening me?”
Vincent straightened his pose and turned to go.
“Just warning you, Virginie. I’ll be seeing you.”
“Not if I see you first,” Gini muttered ungraciously, as he strode away.
She felt distinctly rattled by the short encounter. Wo
uld the accusation become public knowledge? It could ruin her business. Why had she ever entered the competition? She was doing all right until then.
She felt no better when she arrived in Boyardville and made her way to the beach. The surfing had begun and she could hear shouts of approval followed by groans of despair as she hurried along. She hoped she hadn’t missed Hugo’s turn. She wanted him to do well. Today’s scores would be added to those achieved yesterday, with tomorrow’s score going on top.
The standard was very high. Hugo didn’t perform as well as he had in the previous heat but he was quite philosophical about it.
“You can’t win them all,” he said with a shrug. “I thought I’d joined the wave at the right moment but it ran out on me. Tomorrow? Who knows? It might be my wave that runs the best.”
He looked searchingly at her face and his eye-brows puckered.
“But, it is not that bad, ma cherie. I am still there to try again.”
Gini hadn’t known whether or not to tell him about the accusation she was under. The stigma of it seemed to taint her, even though she knew she was innocent. Other people could only believe or hope that she was innocent. She was the only one who knew it as a fact.
Hugo had tilted her chin up towards him. The laughter was dying from his eyes as he took in the misery in her face.
“What is it, cherie?” he asked softly. “What has happened? Is it something to do with your family?”
Gini shook her head.
“No. It’s me,” she whispered.
She averted her eyes for a moment, hoping to blink away the tears that threatened to fall once more. Then, with a supreme effort almost of defiance, she lifted her head high and looked him straight in the eye.
“I’ve been accused of cheating in the design competition. But I didn’t. I didn’t!”